


We'll Make T-Shirts

by downjune



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Consent Issues, M/M, Multi, Soul Bond, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 16:50:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11256957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downjune/pseuds/downjune
Summary: "He’s done this a bunch of times over the years," Shearsy said. "We’re not, I don’t know. We’re not special.”Instantly offended on their behalf, Bryan gestured down at himself and then at Conor. “We are so special! I’ve known you were special from day one, buddy.”Conor cracked a smile. “Thanks, man. I wasn’t insinuating anything about your level of cool."





	We'll Make T-Shirts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theladyscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/gifts).



> I've been wanting to write Rusty forever, but May was bonkers, so yay amnesty! A special thanks to theladyscribe for the prompt! I'd like to write another part from Conor's POV, but I know myself--as soon as I make it part of a series, I don't feel like writing more. So anyway, this takes place in like January 2017, in that brief window when Rusty/Sid/Shearsy were the Sid and the Kids line, before Guentzel showed up.
> 
> Also, check out [this gif set](https://icedbatik.tumblr.com/post/156484751687/intermissionpenguins-012617-before-the-game) for inspo.

*

“It’s not gonna be weird,” Shearsy told him. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t let it get weird.”

“I guess he would be a pro by now.”

Bryan twisted around and placed his chest protector and elbow guards where they belonged in his stall. He turned to Shearsy and bumped his knee. “But it’s not, like, totally…” He looked for the words. “Mechanical and routine either, right? Because that would be weird too.”

Conor shrugged. Not super encouraging. “I don’t think so? Maybe. He’s done this a bunch of times over the years. We’re not, I don’t know. We’re not special.”

Instantly offended on their behalf, Bryan gestured down at himself and then at Conor. “We are so special! I’ve known you were special from day one, buddy.”

Conor cracked a smile. “Thanks, man. I wasn’t insinuating anything about your level of cool. I just mean—”

“We’re replaceable.” Bryan nodded to himself. “Maybe a year or two ago, yeah, but now? We’re Sid and the Kids. We have a brand. And a motherfucking—”

Conor’s expression changed, his eyes going distant and interrupting Bryan’s sassy finger-snap buildup to _Cup_. Bryan interrupted himself, actually. “He’s coming back, right? Be cool.”

Conor nodded and sure enough, Sid waddled into the dressing room, gloves pinched under his arm, all business. He caught Bryan’s eye and nodded. “Ready?” he asked, tossing his gloves and dumping off his helmet.

“You bet,” Bryan answered, though his throat caught on _bet_ , and he almost couldn’t get it out. Jesus shitting Christ, please let his voice cooperate for this. If he stuttered his way through soulbond sex with Sidney Crosby, he’d take a skate blade to his own defective throat.

Okay, he wouldn’t do that, but he would lie on his bedroom floor all night and despair and be useless the next day and prove to everyone that he wasn’t worth the time or the drugs. Worth the space in Sid’s head for another bond. 

Thank fuck they weren’t bonded yet or Sid would have heard all that.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Conor said quietly, shooting him a small smile. 

“You’re damn right I’m gonna be fine,” he managed. “I’m gonna be the finest thing he’s ever had.”

Conor blew out a breath, exasperated and fond, because he was Conor and Bryan was Rusty. “Rusty, no.”

Bryan unhooked his suspenders, stood up, and let his shorts drop to the floor. He put his hands on his waist, like Superman. “Rusty, yes.”

*

Line combinations were a fleeting thing for Bryan. He got bumped around _a lot_. Speed, tenacity, guts, not-great hands, whatever—he could fit anywhere, so that’s how Sully used him. He’d started to get comfy with Geno last season, but nobody risked a bond in the playoffs. And this year, he’d spent a little time with everybody.

Until now. He and Shearsy and Sid had found a groove, and the injection he’d just taken in the butt cheek would strengthen it, lock he and his center—his captain—onto the same frequency. 

Well, the shot and exchanged orgasms. 

“All right, Sid, you know the drill. If the bond doesn’t form by morning, we’ll try again. Stay in proximity and stay hydrated.” Dr. Vyas and the bond specialist hovered in the doorway until Sid gave a quick nod, already shucking his spandex the rest of the way off. Bryan, who preferred his clothes to stay on in front of doctors whenever possibly, reluctantly followed suit.

Then the door was shut and there they stood, not wearing any pants. Bryan peeled off his shirt so he was at least even.

“You’ve never done one of these before, right?” Sid asked. 

Bryan shook his head. College hockey didn’t allow induced bonds. And roster spots in the AHL fluctuated so much with call-ups, nobody bothered with them. What he had going on with Shearsy had formed au naturel—nothing as stable as an induced bond, but an undercurrent on the ice that had often earned them a spot on the same line down in Wilkes. It wasn’t something they’d talked about with anyone on staff.

“Well, it’s not permanent,” Sid said, shrugging out of his shirt. “So, don’t worry about that. If the lines change again and I’m not your center, the bond fades pretty quick.”

Bryan was going to do his damnedest to keep that from happening, thanks.

“We don’t need to keep having sex to keep the bond up once it forms, and the drugs take care of nerves pretty well.” 

Sid said all this wearing nothing but his salty Pens hat, so Bryan hoped he’d be forgiven for letting his gaze drop more than once to his captain’s dick, soft and a little lost in a wild nest of pubes. The unwritten rules of the shower prohibited outright staring, so Bryan had never noticed how badly Sid could use a grooming. 

Or maybe Sid liked his situation that way. If Sidney Crosby didn’t want to manscape, Bryan was sure as hell not gonna be the sucker to tell him he had to.

“I’m not nervous,” he finally said, yanking his eyes back up. It was on the tip of his tongue to say something like, _And I don’t need chemical enhancement to have a good time—I’m easy like that_ , but his throat hitched, and in that moment of hesitation, his brain caught up to what his ears and eyeballs had just relayed to him.

_We don’t need to keep having sex after this…the drugs take care of nerves._

Sid was not excited about fucking Bryan and forming a linemate bond. He was doing his job the way he answered press questions and posed for photo-ops. It was all part of the gig. Joking about it, complimenting Sid, or indicating in any way how excited he was would make this weird—and brand Bryan a total rookie. Which he was _not._

He should have bugged Shearsy for more details about how his bonding had gone. Dude was like a clam about this stuff.

“All right. Well then…” Sid gestured at the bed, which had been stripped of everything but a bottom sheet. This was not a bed meant for sleeping. 

“Yeah. Okay.” Bryan crossed the freezing concrete floor and knelt up on the mattress. His pulse was hammering and his skin flushed hot, but he wasn’t sure if that was the drugs or just him.

Sid climbed up with him, and for a surreal moment, they sat there, bare asses on their heels. Sid’s hair and skin and mouth stood out in bright contrast under the harsh lights. Should they have turned them off? Then, without taking off his hat, Sid reached for him, licked his lips, and pulled him into a kiss. He exhaled through his nose, breath gusting across Bryan’s lip. It was scratchy, wet…and mechanical. 

Bryan kissed back, unsure how much he should touch. In that moment, Sid was entirely out of reach—more so even than Bryan’s first call-up, through stuttered introductions, and five minutes of ice time, watching from the bench as Sid had Crosby’d all over the ice with his real linemates—Horny and Kuni.

They were never going to bond. Bryan wasn’t made for this.

Except then Sid pushed him down, and the cool press of the sheet against his spine lit up his skin, a chain-reaction, points of light like signal fires out to his fingers and toes.

Okay, so he was maybe a little stoned right now. He opened his eyes to see Sid kneeling over him, a flush splashed over his cheeks and a smile tweaking his lips.

“These are good drugs.” Bryan said. “Are we allowed to have fun for this part?”

Sid huffed, smile breaking open. “Yeah, that usually helps.”

Bryan hooked his legs around Sid’s ass—it was a stretch—and lifted his hips. “All right, Captain, let’s get busy.”

*

Sid still felt them all, was the thing, even after his old linemates lost the connection. No matter who was on his wing, the old bonds stuck around. Kuni was his security blanket. Horny pressed on his mind and filled his chest with all his wild joy. The moment Duper came to town, Sid knew. And Geno grumbled in his periphery, still the most difficult and tenacious bond.

With every breath, every flex of his body, every drip of sweat, Rusty worked himself under Sid’s skin, wrapped around his heart, and climbed his brain stem. That it was Sid fucking him and not the other way around, was a piece of irony every time. His wingers always assumed Sid had to be the one to do it. 

Sid liked that just fine. They really were good drugs. Just—irony. 

Rusty had dragged him up to the head of the bed and climbed into his lap, putting his back to the cinderblock wall. With his legs wrapped around Sid’s waist, Sid took most of his weight and let him show off a little like he obviously wanted to, his lower back and hips bowing away from the wall every time Sid pushed into him. 

“It’s so fucking hot—my brain’s gonna explode if I don’t—” Rusty cut himself off and extended one arm along the wall at his back, tipped his head up and closed his eyes. “Aren’t you hot?”

Sid kept hold of Rusty’s waist and ground into him. He was dripping. “Yeah.”

“I mean, obviously you’re hot. No point hiding it, you’re gonna know what I think soon, anyway.” Rusty said it in a rush, a juddering spill of words. He always talked around his nerves that way, like he could force the words out before his stutter stole them.

Sid huffed. It was a trip bonding with guys younger than him. Conor kept his emotions clamped down tight, but there was something of him in Rusty—hard-headed and unflinching. Fearless. 

“Is it normal to be this hot?” Rusty asked.

He turned his face against the cinderblock, exposing the lines of his throat, his skin flushed red. Sid stared at the tendon pulled tight leading straight to the notch of his collar bone and thought about tasting it. “It’s the drugs. Trust me, you’re all right.” 

They were bonding just fine without him kissing Rusty’s throat, though, so he didn’t do it.

“How do you know? I might be having a heart attack.”

“I can feel you’re fine.”

Rusty’s eyes popped open. “Seriously?”

Sid nodded. “I can feel you’re gonna come soon too.”

Rusty groaned, thumping his head back again. “Fuck. _Fuck._ ” With the hand not braced against the wall, Rusty started to jerk off, and Sid felt it, an insistent pull in his gut that forced out a groan. His rhythm faltered.

“Shit, did you feel that?”

He looked up to see Rusty watching him, the blue of his eyes almost obscured by pupil and his heavy eyelids. The world quieted and narrowed to Rusty’s pounding heart, the clench and flex of his body, and the bottomless desire in his heart for Sid to see him and know him. Recognize him. 

_I’m too old for this_ , Sid thought. The five years separating them were like ten in hockey time.

Rusty grinned. “I’ll keep you young.”

Sid laughed, and Rusty swore and came all over his stomach, dragging Sid with him into an orgasm that buckled him forward. He leaned heavily against the wall, arms on either side of Rusty, Rusty’s throat right there again, that much closer and shiny with sweat. 

Giving in, he licked at the salt on his skin and bit the tendon. Bryan jerked in his arms and tipped his head back, a curse echoing in his head that never made it to his lips. He hissed when Sid released him and pulled out. With a groan, he settled on the bed and stretched out his legs, watching Sid shuck off the condom and throw it away.

When Sid returned, he settled on the bed with his side flush along Bryan’s. “Feel better?” he asked, and Rusty nodded. He was barely listening, though, his awareness turned inward, feeling along the brand-new bond like it was a just-built room in his house, or a sixth sense he’d never used before. That was just how Sid remembered it.

“This is gonna be awesome,” Bryan said, and Sid felt a swell of optimism bubble up in his chest. He breathed around it, around the space Bryan now occupied in him, jitters and confidence wrapped together in the same package. 

Reaching out, Sid looked for Conor’s steadiness, but his other wing had gone home for the day, a distant pressure at the very edge of his awareness. 

“I’ll see Shearsy tonight,” Bryan offered. “What should I tell him about us?”

Sid looked over to find Bryan watching him. “What do you mean?”

With a quick glance down at their nakedness, Bryan shrugged. “I mean—this is private, and what you guys did was private, except it’s also kind of not—”

“You’ve got a natural bond with him,” Sid interjected. How had he missed it? Conor was already there in Rusty’s head—a faint outline, but distinctly present. “Holy shit.” Sid prodded the space he occupied in Rusty’s mind, a mix of fascination and jealousy leaking out before he could tamp it down. Next to him, Bryan tried to tug away, tried to circle around it, uncertain, but he was too new at this to know how to shut Sid out. In the end, he had to give it up, like fingers uncurling from a fist.

“I won’t tell,” Sid answered distractedly, too busy examining what he’d found. Linked arms on the bench before every game. Eye contact across the dressing room. The breathless rush of speed down the ice.

“Why?” Bryan asked with a fierce mental shove, returning Sid to his own skin with a jolt.

“Why, what?”

“Why wouldn’t you tell? You’re the captain.”

The line he’d crossed was abruptly apparent, and a flush of shame heated Sid’s face. Bryan was wary with him where before he’d only been eager and open. By way of apology, he let Bryan feel it.

“Because it’s not mine. I’ve, uh. I’ve never had a natural bond before.” He let Bryan feel that, too, his eyes going distant as he rooted clumsily in Sid’s head, not even sure what he was looking for. His confusion was obvious. _But you’re the best there is. How is that possible?_

“The induced ones are so stable and locked in, they drown out anything else that might be there.”

“Shit,” Bryan said quietly, focus returning as he backed out of Sid’s mind. Familiar determination swelled in him, and he abruptly climbed off the bed. He crossed the room, and Sid felt a moment of deep alarm that Bryan was going to leave—that he wanted out of the bond before it was fully set. Before they’d had a chance to try it. 

But he didn’t walk out of the room—he was still naked. Instead, he turned and winked at Sid over his shoulder. He also clenched, maybe to make sure Sid had noticed his ass. Sid had noticed.

Then he turned off the light, plunging them both into complete darkness. Bryan may as well have been his own light source, though. Sid could have found him without stumbling, just as Bryan found his way back to the bed and into Sid’s arms. “You can look around some more, if you want,” he said.

*

Bryan knew the moment Sid dropped off to sleep because he was abruptly alone in his head again. In the dark, they’d blurred together, or rather Sid had blurred into him. Bryan didn’t know how to get places he wasn’t invited, and now that Sid had stumbled into his bond with Shearsy, he had nothing else of his own to hide. Sid was already bonded to Conor, anyway. That he hadn’t discovered it then meant Shearsy was better at keeping secrets. Though Bryan couldn’t say for sure why it had needed to remain a secret the last couple years. Not when it only materialized on the ice—a useful time for it to be there.

Maybe Conor didn’t want the coaches to know about it because they might want to induce a bond, and Conor didn’t want Bryan in his head all the time like that.

That hurt a little to think about, though Bryan understood. They already spent so much time together. Not being able to escape might be too much.

Next to him, Sid twitched and sighed in his sleep, shifting closer so his forehead was pressed to Bryan’s temple. He relaxed, and Bryan did too, calm seeping into his shoulders and down his spine. 

“Whoa, are you doing that?” he asked quietly.

Sid didn’t answer, but sleep dragged heavily on Bryan’s limbs, and it was definitely his captain—his center—pulling him down. Bryan had never been the type to argue a point with his betters. 

Turning onto his side, he faced Sid so their noses almost touched, his eyes drooping shut. “This is gonna be awesome, you’ll see,” he mumbled. “Sid and the Kids 2017.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://itstartledme.tumblr.com/)
> 
> (also icymi, I posted [a little Sid/Claude thing](http://itstartledme.tumblr.com/post/161850950438/that-shrug-is-deadly-sidclaude-11) there that seemed too short for the Archive.)


End file.
